


Patience

by Fyre



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 16:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: One must know how to earn the trust of another.





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for both seasons :)

The world has changed.

Time has played her hand and now, houses of mud and sticks have given way to stone. A fortress, it seems, with many chambers and towers. The wizard doesn’t feel the eyes behind his own, taking in all that he sees, blurring that which must be unseen.

That, at least remains the same: humanity and its urgent, grasping need, blind to the threats and the dangers until it is too late.

Aaravos smiles as he waits.

The little wizard believes himself so powerful, yet he hides himself in a cell in the darkness, in hopes of finding an answer to a question he should never have asked. He believes himself in control because he stands on the outer side of the mirror, when he scarcely understands what the mirror is.

It is no surprise when the man crashes back into the chamber in a rage.

So simple a thing, desperation.

The little mage is made of bluster and temper. He thinks himself strong and in command. All hollow threats and they both know it. 

It takes surprisingly little to placate him, stoking his resentment, smiling and conspiring and whispering the means to get all that he wants in more. If it makes him an enemy of his own people… well, sometimes, there are sacrifices that must be made. 

Aaravos watches as dust and flame are breathed to life and unleashed. A willing one, this human. Ready to do all that he must and more. His own peoples’ blood the price of his ambition. No small wonder he goes untrusted in his own halls, hunted by the guards and chased down like a dog. 

Pushing someone like that to the brink, forcing them beyond the tolerance of their peers, leaving them alone, helpless and shackled, is an old game. When someone has nothing, they will grasp the first hand that offers help, even if that pushed them there in the first place.

“Are you there?” the wizard whispers. “Answer me!” His breath catches, trembling. “ _Please_.”

In the darkness of the mirror, Aaravos closes his eyes, drinking in the desperation like nectar. 

He can feel the man’s despair, the ripples of dread and resignation, as if he can scarcely believe in one whom he does not yet trust. He is chained now, at wrist and at ankle. They fear him, his people. They know what he is capable of. They have seen the power – borrowed for but a moment – turn their brothers and sisters to ice and ash.

He waits, just a moment, just long enough for the fear to sharpen to anger again.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

The wizard sags in his chains, shaking with relief. Aaravos gazes out through his eyes. Another cell, not unlike the one that holds his mirror. Bleak and dark, lit only by the flicker of torches through the barred window in the door. A far fall from the King’s right hand.

“I– I need to get out of here.”

“Mm.” Aaravos traces his fingertips along the inside of his own prison. This little wizard has been in chains for barely hours and he baulks. Imagine, Aaravos thinks, days and months, years and centuries. Cold glass and darkness and no touch of starlight.

“Help me!” The man tries to make it sound like a command, but the tenor of panic taints his words.

Aaravos presses his fingertips – unseen – against darkened glass. The wizard’s enemies have found the mirror. Better to remain unseen and harmless. A mere decoration. A mad magician’s plaything. If they see the cup and the blade all the better. Tools and nothing more.

“Aaravos!”

“They fear you,” he murmurs, barely a breath in his little human’s ear. “They will not be so reckless with their lives.”

“But we need to– I can’t– I–” The chains rattle as he strains against them, trying to form runes, flames sparking and sputtering at his fingertips. 

Aaravos smothers a laugh. Perhaps it’s wicked, but he allows a sensation to pass through the connection, a soothing caress down the wizard’s cheek. The man flinches, his heart beating faster. 

“Patience,” Aaravos breathes. 

Another brush of contact, light as air. A shiver this time, chains clinking softly.

“They will come for you soon enough.” His voice is softer still. “They will beg.”

The wizard shakes his head tightly. “You can’t know that. If they saw– Opeli– she won’t allow it.”

Aaravos cannot help but laugh. “She will have no choice.” He hears the echo of his own voice in the wizard’s thoughts. “We have unleashed terror that cannot be beaten back with strength of arms. Who else do they have who can defeat it?” He smiles at his own reflection in the darkened glass of the mirror. “No one but you.”

“No one…” the wizard echoes.

“No one.” Aaravos allows a flicker of the connection, a sensation of a hand upon the man’s shoulder. “Patience, my friend.”

“Patience.” The wizard nods, surer now. “I– they won’t have a choice, will they?”

“No.” Aaravos draws a breath, releasing it. Bending someone to your will is not about force or demands or control. Like each stroke of a rune, coming together to create a spell. Each action to create the whole. Force someone to bend and they will resent it. Invite them to do so, give them a reason to do so, and it will be so much more powerful. “Trust me.”

The wizard trembles again. “Yes,” he whispers.


End file.
